


Supernatural One Shots

by the_winchester_project



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various, Supernatural: The Animation
Genre: Actor Castiel, Actor Castiel Novak, Actor Dean, Actor Dean Winchester, Actor Sam, Actor Sam Wesson, Actor Sam Winchester, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Alternative Lifestyles, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Character Death, College, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Motel room, Multi, Sad, Sad Dean, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Ending, Sad Sam, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sunsets, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, bitch jerk, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_winchester_project/pseuds/the_winchester_project
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Supernatural based one shots. I won't be expanding on any of these, so please don't ask! I probably won't update this as much because I only write these when I need time off from my main fanfic, which isn't often. I work my butt off for you guys!! I hope you enjoy, I pretty much tagged everything related to spn because everything will probably turn up in this thing! Enjoy!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You Ready To Cross?

Sharp, rough rocks dug into his hands, leaving red indents in his palms. Little bruises on his pale skin. Pale skin, dotted with purple bruises and splashed with specks of red. Dust encrusted his finger nails, mixing with the crimson droplets. Drip. Drop. Rivers of red ran thickly down the pathway, flowing through cracks in the pavement, breaching off at different points and making little streams. Eventually, they stopped, and pooled in mini potholes. Bloody puddles, bloody lakes. His finger moved slightly, disrupting the calm of one of the puddles. His ring finger. The ring finger that never got to wear a ring. Ripples. Dark, scarlet waves, crashing silently on rocky shores. The same rocky shores that had bruised his hands. That were still bruising. Not just his hands. The back of his legs, his back. The back of his head. One of the sources of the rivers and streams. Not the only one, though.

Drip. Drop. A waterfall, almost. Except it's moving so slowly, it doesn't look like water at all. Maybe lava, instead. Burning, violent, molten rock. But even lava eventually stops, cools, hardens. Becomes devoid of life. Dies, if you will.

The finger moves again, the finger that never needed a ring. Just the reassurance that his brother would be by his side, to the bitter end. More ripples. They look almost black now that the sun was setting, the light was fading, the warmth was receding. The last sunset he would see. And it was a beautiful one. Oranges and reds and golds setting fire to the sky. Mikado, Saffron, Jonquil. Imperial, Lust, Carmine. Princeton, Pumpkin, Vermillion. He didn't mind this at all. This wasn't a bad place to take your last breath.

Dean coughed again, a weak cough. Blood sprayed from his mouth, like it was a volcano. A dying volcano, one last eruption. Another cough, this time weaker. Blood started to trickle out of the corner of his mouth, down his cheek, into the sea of blood around him. His blood. His breathing was laboured, every breath painful and full of liquid. Drip. Drop. Dean didn't look down at his body, he knew what he would see. It wouldn't make his feel better, staring down at his chest. Or what was left of it, anyway. So instead, he turned his head to the left, reaching that same hand out a little more. Their hands touched momentarily, then Sam grabbed Dean's hand, and they both held on tight. Sam didn't look any better than Dean. If anything, he looked worse. Dean tried to ignore the deep claw marks across his brother's chest and back. They mirrored his own, in a way. Sam turned his head to look Dean in the eye. A single tear slipped down his face as he looked into Dean's eyes. Dean looked back. Sammy hadn't deserved this, he deserved so much more. So, so, so much more...

**It was almost summer. Dean was 10, Sam was just turning 6. He was turning 6 that day, in fact. The sun was beating down on the streets as the boys made their way through the crowds. Today they were in Ely, they had been for the week. John was finishing up on a hunt. Sam thought they were here to celebrate his birthday. Dean couldn't face telling his brother - he needed to protect Sammy - so Dean was taking him to an ice-cream place just down the road from where they were staying. John would be fine with it, it wasn't like he didn't want the boys to celebrate their birthdays. Dean had let Sammy get the biggest ice-cream he could eat, and he wouldn't be surprised if Sam did finish it. On their way back, Dean was about to step into the road when Sam blocked him, throwing his free hand out in front of his brother.**

**"Dean! We should stop, look and listen before crossing a road, we don't want a car to hit us! I learned that in school. You know, that one in Iowa?"**

**"You did? Well it's good that you remembered. You might have just saved my life!" Dean bent down to his brother and ruffled his hair. Then, standing up, he took his brother's hand, the one that wasn't holding the colossal ice-cream. "Are you ready to cross, Sammy?" He asked.**

**"Yeah!" He replied, then pulled Dean over to the other side of the road, laughing.**

Sam was still staring at Dean, still holding Dean's hand tight. Dean squeezed Sam's hand.  _I'm still here._ Sam squeezed back. Dean had so much to say, but so little time. He needed Sam to know how how sorry he was, how honoured he was, how proud he was...

"Are you ready to cross?" Sam asked, his voice so quiet Dean almost didn't hear it.

Wait. There was a way he could tell Sam everything. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam replied, smiling slightly, despite the fact they were both on death's door.

Dean smiled back, blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. It was weak, but a smile nonetheless.

"Yeah." Dean's sight began to fade. Sam squeezed his hand again. A comforting gesture. "I'm ready."

**Sam took his hand, smiling and full of life, and led him across the road, into the light.**


	2. Forgive me God, I Wrote Wincest. (I'm Not A Shipper But I Was Bored)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! How are you all? My writing is probably getting worse, but right now I've got a lot on, and I don't have much time to write. I'd like to upload a chapter of my current main fanfic once a week, but I might struggle to make that happen. And if I do manage to upload, it probably won't be the best I've ever written. Sorry ❤

He edged into the room, shutting the door behind him. Click.

"Sammy. You in here?" He whispered.

At first, nothing. But then, a muted reply, barely detectable.

"Yeah. You okay, Dean?"

"I'm good. I need to talk to you, though." Dean returned. God, he was nervous about this.

"Sure." There was a shuffle, and Dean felt his brother's hand on his arm, guiding him over to the motel bed. "I need to ask you something too."

Dean shivered as his brother's skin touched his own, pure pleasure. This wasn't right. Could he really ask this of his brother? Would it jeopardise their brotherly relationship, if Sammy didn't feel the same. I mean, they were brothers, after all.

Sam lead him over to the bed, and they sat down, side by side. Even in the pitch dark, Dean could almost see his brother's face. He'd memorised every outline, every shadow, every imperfection that made his brother perfect. Handsome. Beautiful.

Dean looked to where he knew his brother's face was. It was so close, but he still couldn't see it. Not properly. If he just leaned in that little bit... Dean chickened out.

"The lights- you know how they're not working?-"

Sam cut in. "I noticed."

Dean continued. "I'm- I'm gonna fix them."

"That's good to know, Dean, but that's not what you came in to ask, is it? You're acting off, and as usual, you're a terrible liar."

Dean didn't answer, and silence filled the dark room.

"Well, if you're not gonna talk, then I will." Sam said. Suddenly, his voice became much more hushed. "I know we're brothers, and that's awesome. But, have you ever thought that maybe... Maybe we could be... More? I don't know, it's just that lately - for a while now actually - I've been feeling like there might be more to it than a brotherly love. And I've been feeling like you feel the same." Having gotten across his point, Sam began to babble as Dean remained silent. "Look if you don't feel the same I totally understand and we can totally forget this ever happened, I don't want you to feel awkward around me now just because of how I feel and if you-"

Dean silenced his brother by closing the gap between them, and pressing his lips to his brother's. At first, Sam didn't react to their kiss, but just as Dean started thinking he had misinterpreted what Sam had been saying, Sam kissed back. Gently, at first, but as it endured, Sam parted Dean's lips and pulled him close. Dean melted into his brother, holding him back, caressing Sam's muscular, defined back. How he had dreamed of this. But none of his dreams had come close to this heaven. Dean slowly pulled back. He couldn't see his brother's face, but he imagined Sammy was grinning just as much as he was.

Reaching down, Dean found his brother's hand, and they intertwined their fingers.

"This is wrong... But it feels right." Sam whispered to his brother.

"It's perfect." Dean replied.

Finally, it seemed like the Winchesters had got their lucky break. And it had been right in front of them the entire time.


	3. College Applications

Sam and John had had an argument again, resulting in John leaving in a fiery mood. As usual, Dean had just accepted it, being "the good little soldier" Sam always accused him of being. Sam himself had stormed off to their bedroom and hadn't reappeared, leaving Dean to his thoughts. Ever since Sammy had turned 14, he had been arguing with John, about how they lived, about their choices. Now four years later, Sam still had as much of a temper.

As time passed, the darkness began to set in. Since it was summer time, it took a while to get dark, so Dean took a guess that it was 10pm. Swivelling in his chair so that he was straddling the back of it, he looked up to the clock, and discovered that it was 9. He was close. It had been a couple of hours now since John had left, at least. Had Sam fallen asleep? Wanting to check on his brother, Dean swung his leg from around the wooden chair and strolled over to the bedroom.

The roadhouse room wasn't in too bad a shape. John must have planned the solo hunt in advance and wanted a solid place for his sons while he was gone. It was sectioned into two main areas. The first was a kitchen, with a microwave, fridge and sink. Some towels hung from a peg, and there was a table in the centre with four chairs surrounding it. The walls were painted a sickly yellowish green. A clock was suspended above the doorway which led to the bathroom. The bathroom was cramped, and somehow managed to fit a toilet, shower and sink in the space provided. The tiles were a dirty yellow, bleached by the sun. They were originally an emerald green, which you could just about see if you looked behind the sink. It was slowly trying to detach itself from the wall. And had he mentioned how crappy the water pressure was? The final door led to the bedroom. It had two single beds and a set of draws. There was also a storage box under Sam's bed, that contained extra bed sheets. Overall, it was better than their regular motels. Usually, they got a bedroom and a toilet, nothing else.

Dean leaned into the door, lightly resting his hand on the handle, and twisting it. The door clicked open, and swung open almost silently. Dean was impressed. Sam was splayed out on top of his covers, still wearing his shirt and jeans from earlier. His breathing was slow and even, and Dean confirmed that his brother was asleep. Smiling, he crept in and sat on his own bed, facing his resting brother. Sam's face was so relaxed, Dean never saw his brother like this any other time. Usually, Sam's face was full of pain, anger, sadness, or he was carefully guarding his feelings. But whenever he slept, he looked so... Vulnerable. Dean had sat like this many nights, when they had been younger, waiting to see if his little brother would have a nightmare. Sammy was prone to nightmares - hell, they all were, which was no surprise, after the things they witnessed on a day-to-day basis. Whenever Sam did, Dean would climb in bed with him and hug him until he was okay. Now, he didn't do that, but he would comfort him. Sam never talked about his nightmares. None of them did.

Dean snapped back to the present and rested his elbow on his leg, leaning down to rest his forehead on his hand. God, he was tired. He should probably get more than 3 hours a night. He opened his eyes, and a flash of white caught his eyes. In the semi-darkness, everything seemed black and grey, but the corner of paper still contrasted with it's background. It looked hastily hidden in the box of bed sheets which was under the bed Sam had chosen. Frowning, Dean slid to his knees and dragged the box from under the bed. He popped open the lid, and cautiously took the papers out. His heart began to sink as he read over them, switching between the sheets. What the hell?

Suddenly, a hand clamped down on Dean's, and his head shot up, meeting Sam's annoyed gaze. His cheeks were visibly flushed despite the lack of lighting. His eyes were shining in the darkness, and his hair was tousled. Sam got worse bedheads than Dean had ever gotten.

"I thought you were asleep?" Dean asked, unsure as to whether he should bring up the papers in his hands, or just walk out and discuss them in the morning.

"I was. You woke me. Dean, why the hell are you looking through my stuff?"

Dean made a split second fight or flight decision.

"Sam... What is this?" Glancing down, he shuffled through them. "Stanford... Chicago... Massachusetts?"

The anger faded from Sam's eyes, replaced by sadness. His whole face changed. "Dean, I was going to tell you, I promise..."

"Sam, are these- are these application papers? For- university?"

"Dean, I'm sorry. This life - the hunting life, it's not for me. I don't have to do this. I have a choice, so do you. And I choose not to waste my life mindlessly hunting down this- this thing, for revenge. We don't even know what it is yet!"

"Sam, Sammy, please. Please don't do this. Not to us. Not to- not to me. Sammy, please... I need you."

"Dean, I'm sorry. I really don't want this life! I want the white picket fence, a wife, a family!"

"You have a family, right here! A family that has been here for you since day 1!" Dean raised his voice ever so slightly. What the hell?

"I want kids of my own, a stable life! I want an education, Dean! Every other kid gets one, why not us? What makes us so different? Is this too much to ask? Is it, really?" Sam's voice also rose.

Dean didn't answer, just sat back onto his heels. The papers slipped from his hands, floating across the floor. If Sam could get away from this all... Dean wouldn't begrudge him. If Sam could escape, he was lucky. To have a proper life was all Dean had ever wanted, for both himself and his brother. But still... Sam slid from his bed to sit across from Dean.

"Dean. Hey, look at me. Come with me." Sam looked to Dean, his eyes wide with hope, his voice soft.

"Sam... Sammy I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't..."

"Dean... Please don't tell dad. Not yet. Please. Do this one thing for me, please."

Dean continued to look down, but without really seeing anything. He was focussing on holding back tears. Finally, he replied. "Okay. Okay, Sammy. I'm happy for you, I really am. At least one of us can escape this." His voice was thick with emotion. Standing up, Dean walked around his brother and to the doorway. Dean felt his whole world start to collapse around him, his whole life, everything they had done together, achieved... For nothing. Sam was going to leave them for college? Leave everything?

"We can both escape. Dean, I'm begging you. Please, come." Sam was crying now, but he hadn't moved from his position, sitting on the floor, facing away from Dean.

Dean stopped in the doorway. "I can't." His voice broke, and a single tear slipped down his face. He slid down the side of the door frame and stayed there all night, close to his brother, but also too far away.

John returned from the hunt a couple of days later to find both of his sons devoid of life, going through the motions without really feeling it. It was probably because he had left them out of the hunt. They'd get over it.


End file.
